


Welcome to Casa McCallinski, Derek Hale

by chantelle82



Series: The Rules of Romance [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, everybody's a human, roommates!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantelle82/pseuds/chantelle82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles need a roommate.  Derek needs a place to stay.  The problem:  He hosts a radio relationship advice show, "Love in the Afternoon with Derek Hale";  Stiles loathes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Casa McCallinski, Derek Hale

Scott went to put the key into the battered lock of his apartment door and then stopped.  _They’re at it again_ , he grimaced as he heard the raised voices of his roommates.

“It’s Mexican Friday, douche.  He _needs_ the sombrero!”  Stiles yelled.

“I don’t care if it’s Supermodel Sunday!  _This_ was _in_ my room…ergo _you’ve_ been in my room again!”  Scott opened the door to see Jackson holding the stupid bust of himself that some girl had made for him back in high school.  Though the sombrero, mustache and eye-patch were new.

“What are you talking about?!  There’s an open door policy here at McCallinskimore Manor,” Stiles said as he made grabby hands at Mexican-Outlaw-Jackson.

“No, you’re the only one that believes that stupid policy.  And do you have to believe it every time you take a piss?  I’ve seen enough of that worm you call a dick to last a life time!”

“Jealousy, thy name is Jackson,” Stiles retorted as he turned back to the stove to stir the frying ground beef.

Jackson rolled his eyes.  “Whatever, loser.  Just stay out of my room!...Hey, Scott.”  With that, Jackson threw the sombrero at the back of Stiles’ head and stomped to his room, firmly slamming the door behind him.

Scott sighed as he placed his keys in the bowl by the door and made his way to the kitchen.  He grabbed a beer from the fridge and hopped up onto the bench.  “Why can’t you just leave him alone, Stiles?  You know that it annoys him when you touch his stuff.”

“Exactly the reason to do it.  Here, tell me if I need to add more chilli,” Stiles said as he swung a wooden spoon heaped with beef and fried onions in front of his face.  Scott took a mouthful and coughed as tears came to his eyes.

“All… _cough_ …good, dude,” Scott took a large swig of his beer and wiped the tears from his cheeks.  Stiles seemed to look proudly at his best friend’s pain.

“Excellent.  Dad always says, ‘if it doesn’t make you cry, it ain’t worth eating’,” he said as he turned off the heat and moved to the cupboard to grab the tortillas.

“Maybe we should…save it until he’s here for dinner,” Scott said diplomatically as he put down his beer to begin dicing up the lettuce and tomatoes.

“Man up, dude.  Tonight we eat the Meal of Men!”

Scott shook his head as he began slicing.  He loved Stiles like a brother, but sometimes he had _absolutely_ no idea what the hell the guy was talking about.

*****

“I’m sorry, sir.  The ice machine’s broken.  There’s no ice until we can get it fixed,” Stiles said as politely as possible.  Although what he really wanted to do was throw the guy out on his ass, lock the doors and hide behind the counter until his shift was over.

“Well, the sign out there says you have ice.  That’s false advertising!  I’m sick of all you charlatans saying you have things just to get us poor customers into your shop.  It’s dishonest!”  The guy ranted, oblivious to the fact that Stiles’ thoughts had now turned to the hundred ways he could dispose of a body.  Thank god for having a cop dad.

“Of course, sir,” Stiles was using the little self-control he had to restrain himself.

“Don’t take that tone with me.  I can recognize ‘facetious’ when I hear it.  Well, young man, you’ve just lost yourself a customer!”  Hallelujah.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way.”  _Not at all_.  “I hope you’ll give our store another chance in the future.”  A future where Stiles has been whisked away by Jennifer Lawrence or Benedict Cumberbatch when they came into the store looking for milk and finding the wonder that is Stiles Stilinski instead.

The man hmmphed and angrily walked out.

“Good riddance,” Stiles said as he wandered out from behind the counter to go and see what Boyd and Danny were up to.  And made a mental note to find something to cover the stupid ‘We have ice!’ sign.

“You can’t expect your relationship to be everything you want it to be unless you’re honest with your partner, Ray.  If you don’t want kids you need to let them know it…” _Oh god, was it past four o’clock already?_   Stiles wondered as he heard ‘Love in the Afternoon with Derek Hale’ coming from the radio that Danny and Boyd were huddled around.  What a crock of horseshit.

“Come on, guys.  Do we have to listen to this garbage?  I’m sure there’s something better on.  Turn the dial…maybe there’s a cat screeching or nails being scraped on a chalkboard.”  Stiles scowled as he was shushed by the two traitors.

“And that’s all we have time for,” the voice on the radio continued.  “I’m Derek Hale and I just want to leave you with the always useful reminder that open and honest communication is always the best option.  Signing off.”  Danny switched off the radio and turned to face Stiles.

“Too much honesty for you, huh?  Does it make you feel uncomfortable at even the _idea_ of talking about your feelings,” Danny smirked, giving a cheeky look to Boyd.

“No.  I just don’t like the fact that this guy thinks he has all the answers when he probably goes home to his sixty-three cats every night with a pint of ice-cream and a Golden Girls rerun…plus you and Boyd like to play amateur psychologist after every show,” Stiles ranted as he idly searched through the bagels, pushing the older ones to the front.

“Whatever,” Boyd said dismissively as he went back into the bakery to prepare the bags of flour he would need the next morning. “I think the real reason is because your love life has been non-existent for…what? Two months now?  Or is it three?”

“I had a date last week, douchebag,” Stiles said as he stuffed his mouth full of Boyd’s Deluxe Cream Donuts.  The guy could be annoying but he was a damn fine baker.

“A _blind_ date.  That Danny had to set up for you,” Boyd dropped a 10kg bag of flour on the counter and wiped his hands as he turned to Danny.  “And, remind me, what did the guy say about our ‘lothario’ Stiles here?”

“I believe the words ‘arrogant’ and ‘uninteresting’ were used at some point,” Danny said as he began to hose down the floor of the butcher’s section of Morrell’s Market.

Stiles’ arms flailed as he spun from Boyd to Danny.  “He collected china!  I’m sorry I couldn’t hold up my side of a conversation that consisted of the hardest-to-find china patterns.  He had photos of them on his phone…a _folder_ full of them!”

“I’ll admit that I didn’t think Tony would bring those out on a first date…but you kinda forced him to.”

“Forced him?!”

Danny looked up calmly from his cleaning.  “Yes, _forced_.  He told me you did nothing but complain about the food and the people.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as he licked remnants of cream off of his fingers.  “It was a shitty hipster restaurant where everything was served ‘the way Mother Nature intended’!  The guy next to us did a _five_ minute diatribe on the subtlety of the flavours of his meal.  It was pieces of raw broccoli!”

“It could have been the best burger joint in the world and you still would have found _something_ to put down,” Boyd piped up.  “Maybe you should listen to Derek Hale’s show once in a while.  He talks all about the need for people who are unhappy with their lives to spread the negativity to others.”

“Ughh,” Stiles threw up his hands and began to head back to the front of the store to begin to lock up.  “It’s like a cult.  I’m gonna wake up one night to find the two of you standing over me with some rope and a canvas bag, all ready to take me to your compound for ‘thought readjustment’.”

“At least then your bedroom will have someone in it other than you,” Boyd retorted as he headed to the back of the bakery for the broom and mop.

“I hate you all,” Stiles muttered.

*****

“…I’m Derek Hale and I just want to leave you with the always useful reminder that open and honest communication is always the best option.  Signing off,” Derek finished, his eyes narrowed as he focused on Chris Argent waiting on the other side of the glass.  Probably not good news if the station manager ‘extraordinaire’ had come down from his ivory tower to see him.

Chris waited for the ‘On Air’ light to flicker off and Derek placed his headphones on the desk before he entered the booth.

“They turned it down,” Derek said knowingly.  Chris leaned against the doorframe and looked at him tiredly.

“You didn’t give them much of a choice, Derek.  National syndication means having to give up a little creative control.”

Derek angrily stood up, his chair loudly hitting the wall behind him.  “It was a bullshit contract, Chris.  They wanted to turn my show into some trashy sex-advice crapfest.  That’s not me.”

“It didn’t have to be trashy.  This is what they were talking about.  You didn’t even take the time to think about what they were offering.  You would’ve still been helping people.”

Lydia came out of the producer’s booth and leaned against the wall.  “He’s right, Derek.  It’s probably not too late to talk to the big-wigs.  Sex problems are just as valid as other relationship problems.  You answer sex questions all the time.”

“Don’t believe for a second that’s what they had in mind, Lydia.  It would’ve been all exploitative and forcing _you_ to only give me the most depraved calls.  That’s not me.  That’s not my show.”

Chris pushed himself away from the door.  “Well then you should be happy the deal is cancelled then…But if I know my sister, I think she probably won’t be sharing your relief.”

“Oh god, Derek.  You have to let me be there when you tell Kate.  She is _not_ going to take you turning down going national well.  All that money…Please, I’ll just sit quietly in the corner…” Lydia smirked.

“It warms my heart to know that I’ve always got the support of my producer,” Derek said sarcastically as he picked up his duffel bag in the corner and proceeded to push past Chris.

“She’s gonna kill him,” he heard Lydia say.

She was wrong.  Kate wouldn’t kill him.  Not quickly, anyway.

*****

“She’s so smart, Stiles.  You should have seen her with my boss today.  They talked about stuff like…well I don’t remember exactly…but it was important world-issue stuff.  And did I mention her hair…?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.  It was supposed to be Bro-Burger Saturday, yet they were currently into the second hour of the first meeting of the Allison Argent Appreciation Society.  He didn’t know who this woman was, but she’d managed to turn his pretty smart and collected best friend into a raving madman.

“Yeah, yeah.  Long, flowing, the colour of the finest and most exquisite chocolate…I think you’ve mentioned it,” Stiles said as he took a bite of his burger.  The only good thing about this night was that Jackson wasn’t home.  Thank god for lawyers and their long hours.

Scott put his burger down.  “I know, okay.  I’m boring you to death.  But this is the first time in a long time I’ve met someone who made me feel…like this.”

Stiles sighed.  It never ceased to amaze him that of all the people he could have chosen, he picked a best friend who was so damned earnest about _everything_.  Probably to balance out his own apparently shitty personality…according to Boyd, Danny and Jackson.

“Just ring her and ask her out, dude.  I’m sure she took one look at your puppy dog eyes and fell head over heels too.”

“I don’t even know her number…”

“She’s a reporter for the Gazette, isn’t she?  Just ring there.”

“I don’t know….” Scott said looking pretty unsure of himself.

“Then I don’t know, Scott.  Geez!  Pine from afar and send her secret love notes.  What do you want me to say?!”

“Wow, thanks.  I’m so glad I have you for advice,” Scott responded as he leaned back in his chair.

“I’m sorry, dude,” Stiles said guiltily.  “I’m just frustrated by the lack of people waiting in line for a date with me, I guess.  Ignore me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Scott smirked.  “I’d say creepy Peter wouldn’t mind spending some time with you.”

Stiles picked off a piece of beetroot from his burger and threw it at Scott’s face.  “God, that guy should be on some Justice Department watch-list somewhere.  He told me his back was out yesterday and kept making me pick up the mail he conveniently ‘dropped’.”

Scott smiled and took a sip of his soda.  They sat in silence for a few minutes while Stiles finished off his food.

“And if you really like this girl, call her.  If she’s as great as you say…she might be good for you.”  Ughh, sincerity always felt so unnatural coming out of Stiles’ mouth.  It’s why he avoided it like the plague.

“Thanks dude.  I’ll think about it.”  Scott looked at the chair beside him and then over to Stiles.  “Can I ask you a question?”

Stiles steadied himself for another question about love, life or happiness.  “Shoot.”

“Why is bust-Jackson a pirate?”  Scott asked as he pointed to the statue seated beside him.  Stiles smiled.

“Well, he still had the eye-patch on so…”

Stiles was interrupted by the rattle of the door and Jackson bursting into the apartment.  Jackson took in the scene of Pirate-Jackson and his two roommates at the kitchen table.

“Consider this my two weeks notice.  This guy just got a promotion and I can finally afford to move away from you losers.”

*****

In the immortal words of Stiles Stilinski:  “Searching for a roommate sucks ass.”  In a perfect world, Stiles and Scott could afford to pay the rent themselves and turn the apartment into the Kingdom of Bro-mania.  But, unfortunately, this wasn’t a perfect world.

“Fax me that list of applicants, Stiles.  I’ll run a check on them,” Sheriff Stilinski ordered.

“Dad,” Stiles said as he juggled the phone while he went through the boxes that Jackson had left in the lounge, “…the last time somebody used a fax Justin Bieber hadn’t even been born yet.”

“I don’t even know who that is.  And I’m serious, son.  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to answer calls where somebody’s been tied up and held hostage by somebody they’ve lived with.”

Stiles snorted as he took a pair of shoes out of a box, sure that Jackson wouldn’t miss them.  “Unless you’ve lost the ability to count to four, Dad that’s how many times you’ve been called out on that.  And it was old Mrs. Baker down the street when she thought Ann from the car wash was trying to convince her son to move out.”

“I don’t care, Stiles.  I’m fifty miles away from you and if something went wrong…”

Stiles threw the shoes under his bed and went back to search for more.  “Okay, okay.  When we decide on someone I’ll send you their name.”

“And I want to meet them.”

“For the infamous Stilinski interrogation…no way.  I’m never gonna forget I had to go to my prom alone ‘cause you reduced my date to tears.”

“You were better off.  Anybody who doesn’t know the optimal distance for parking away from an intersection is not worth my son’s time.”

“Dad, _I_ don’t know what that distance is.”

“Then I would never have let you date you,” his dad chuckled.

“So you think you’re a funny guy now.  What have…” Stiles was interrupted by a knock at the door.  “Scott!  Can you get the door?”  No answer.  Well, it did take a lot of concentration to shape that mop Scott called his hair into a presentable style.

“Sorry, dad. I’ve got to go.  That could be an applicant now.  Ready to take me away to his evil lair.”

“Maybe I should warn him to gag you first.”

“Again with the ‘funny’.  I’ll talk you later.”

“Send me that name!  Bye, son.”  Stiles hung up the phone and walked to the door.  He loved his dad like crazy, but apparently moving a town away only increased the level of Sheriff Stilinski’s protectiveness.

Stiles opened the door and saw who had been knocking.  Then again, his dad’s gun would’ve come in handy right about now.

“Why, hello Stiles.  Fancy meeting you here,” Peter said.

“In my apartment…Yes, will wonders never cease?  Can I help you?”  Stiles really wished Scott was finished with his hair.

“You can _always_ help me out,” Peter said in a tone that made Stiles internally shudder.

“Anything specific?”

“Well, I’d heard you’re looking for a roommate.  And I wanted to offer my services.”  Eww, no way in hell.

“You already have an apartment…in this building…two floors down,” Stiles said pointing to the floor.

Peter smiled as he casually ran his hand up and down the doorframe.  “I could be _enticed_ to leave my current domicile for one with a better view,” he said as his eyes slowly ran over Stiles’ body.  Double, no triple eww.

“Thanks.  We’ll keep you in mind.”  …If the zombie apocalypse finally comes and he needs bodies to put in front of himself and Scott to ward off the flesh eaters.

“Please do.  Keep me in mind, I mean,” Peter said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Stiles replied as he firmly closed the door.  Double checking that he locked it.

“Who was that?” Scott said as he came out of the bathroom, not a hair out of place.

“Creepy McCreeperton,” Stiles said as he opened up another of Jackson’s boxes.

“What’d Peter want?  And you really shouldn’t be doing that.”

“I handled it.  And Jackson knows me by now.  Leaving these here in a public area is just an open invitation.”

Scott shook his head as he went to rifle through the cupboard.  The next person who moved in was either gonna kill his best friend or love him.  There was really no grey area when it came to Stiles.

*****

“Come on, Deaton.  I’m f-f-fine.  Just one more.”

Deaton pushed away the empty whiskey glass and set down a chicken salad sandwich in front of Derek’s slumped form.

“Sure.  How about you eat this first?  Then we’ll talk about another drink.”

Derek’s head shot up and then swayed a little. That was _way_ to fast for his level of intoxication.  “You’re not my f-f-father.  Come on.  I’m a p-p-p-paying cus- cust- person.”

Deaton ignored Derek as somebody entered the bar.  “Here he is.  He’s all yours.  Make sure he eats that.”

Peter looked over at his nephew.  Derek was a mess.  He hadn’t looked that bad since…well _that_ day.  Damn, Kate really put the boy through the wringer.

Derek looked at him blearily and swung back to Deaton.  “You called my uncle!  Traitor!”

Deaton just smirked and continued to wash up the night’s glasses.  Peter slipped into the bar stool beside Derek.

“If anybody asks, I’m just a good Samaritan helping a stranger out.  My reputation would be ruined if anybody found out I share genes with someone that smells like you do…Eat,” Peter said as he pushed the sandwich closer to Derek’s face.

“Eat it yourself,” Derek mumbled into the wood of the bar.

“Mature.”

“Not tryin’ to be.  Don’t think you got the m-memo.  I’m just a child playing at b-b-being a man accor- ac-…people say.”  Yep, definitely through the wringer.

“You got dumped.  It’s been two weeks.  Get it together.”

Derek twisted his head to look up at this uncle’s face.  “But I don’t have it t-together.  I’m thirty, alone, h-homeless and I’ve got no am- ambition.

“You forgot drunk and reeking like a sewer,” Peter added.

“Th-that too.”

“Okay, enough.  You’ve been through worse and you came out the other side.  Now sit up and eat that sandwich,” Peter said in a voice that demanded attention.  Derek slowly sat up and petulantly took a bite of the food.

“I have a right to feel how I want to f-feel,” Derek said as he quickly demolished the sandwich.  Some awareness began to reappear in his eyes.

“Yes you do.  And you have done.  But for the life of me I have no idea why you are acting like Kate kicking you out is such a bad thing.  You’ve been talking about ending it with her for months.”

“It’s not even about her, re-really.  A li-little bit, yes.  But she said some thi-things that I can’t de-deny.”

Peter gestured to Deaton for a drink and turned back to Derek.  “Pray tell.  What kernels of truth did Kate choose to share?”

“I want things my way too much.  I could have been na-nationally syndi…c-cated and I threw it away,” Derek mimicked the gesture of throwing rubbish in the bin and nearly fell off his stool.  Peter straightened him up and allowed him to continue.  “I couldn’t com-compromise.  Why couldn’t I?  You’re not sup-supposed to get anything you want and-“

“Enough.  This martyr act is so boring.  You wanted to keep your show the way you wanted it.  Grow some balls and own the choice you made.  Selfishness is not always a dirty word.”  Deaton placed a glass of twenty-year-old scotch in front of him.  Peter took a grateful sip and enjoyed the warmth as it swirled around his tongue.

“Can I cancel my s-sub…scription to the Peter Hale Cheer S-squad?  I think mine’s defe-defective.”

“Lifetime subscription, I’m afraid.  No cancellations.”

“Wonderful.”

“I can’t help you with most of your problems.  Frankly, they bore me…but I might be able to help with the homeless part.”

“Deaton, can I have some water?”  Derek faced Peter with a suspicious look on his face.  “I don’t th-think I want to live anywhere that comes with your rec-recommend..ation.”

Peter twirled his hand in a ‘whatever’ gesture.  “Don’t worry, dear nephew.  They can’t stand me even more than you.  Actually, I like playing with one of them quite a bit,” Peter smirked.  “He’s constantly looking at me like I’d devour him in his sleep.  It’s just too easy, really.”

“S-sounds like a smart guy,” Derek said as he gulped down his water.

“Bit of a moron actually.  Social skills of a barbarian.  But he and his roommate are looking for somebody…and you need a place to live.  It could be a match made in heaven.  Or at the very least they can save me from having to be the one to deal with your pathetic dramatics.”

*****

“I’m gonna say no,” Stiles shouted to Scott.

“You promised you’d give him a chance,” Scott replied as he leaned against Stiles’ bedroom door.

“When have I ever kept a promise?” Stiles said as he almost tripped over a pile of dirty clothes as he pulled up a pair of semi-clean jeans.

“Always.”

“Damn my honourable nature.”  Stiles gave himself a once-over in the mirror.  Nothing that Scott could complain about.  At least he was wearing pants now.  He grabbed the final accessory and swung open his bedroom door.

“Well you-“ Scott was interrupted by the sight of his roommate with a Carmen Miranda-Jackson in tow.  “No, Stiles….Wait, is that my fruit?  You told me it rotted.”

Stiles raised the bust-Jackson proudly.  Human-Jackson had agreed that Stiles could keep the statue when he’d walked in to find his most hated roommate sitting on it – naked.  “The glue will wash right off.  Don’t worry.”

“Don’t even think about it, Stiles.  Can you try and hide the crazy for _one_ day?”

“How dishonest of you, Scott.  Douchey Derek should be aware of everything he’d have to deal with if he chose to move in.  Not that he has the choice.  What with me pre-vetoing it and everything.”  Stiles placed Carmen Miranda-Jackson on one of the three beanbags in the lounge.

Scott had to agree that Derek probably should come into this arrangement with his eyes wide open.  But, damn, didn’t Stiles realize they needed a roommate?

“Fine.  Bust-Jackson can stay.  But he goes on the floor, unless you’re the one who’s giving up his beanbag.”

Stiles looked affronted.  “Derek can have the floor.  He can sit right at the level where he finds his advice for his listeners.”

“Stiles…” Stiles knew that tone.  That was the tone that he should probably do what Scott said.  Bust-Jackson got placed carefully on the floor.  “…And you _have_ to give him a chance.  You’ve managed to chase everybody else away.  But here’s a list for you to think about: television, couch, kitchen table, fridge.  All things that Derek has.  Things which we do not.”

Stiles looked around their apartment.  Casa McCallinski was looking pretty shabby.  The lounge was empty and there was a cooler where the refrigerator used to be.

“We can keep looking, it’s only been…”

“Stiles, stop it.  I know, okay.  You don’t like anyone.  You definitely don’t like anyone _new_.  But, geez, I really can’t afford to pay the extra rent.  Please just-“ Stiles held up his arms in an ‘I surrender’ gesture.  He knew he was being an asshole, but this was about inviting somebody to live in his _home_.  But Scott rarely pulled him up on his crap, so he’d give Douchey Derek a fair chance.  A small one.  A very, very small one.

Stiles’ defeat was interrupted by the chime of a text message on his phone.

_Dad:  Hale passed the check.  Approved_

“Scott, did you give Douchey Derek’s name to my dad?”  His best friend’s face showed the guilt it always did when Scott had done something less-than-above board.

“Your dad made me promise, Stiles.  He can be pretty scary when he wants to be.  I like my knees where they are.”  Stiles rolled his eyes at his dad’s pathetic threats.

“He’s like an old dog.  All bark and absolutely no bite.  Not even a snarl.  You know that.”

Scott shrugged his shoulders as they both jumped at the knock at the door.

“It really echoes now with our minimalist furnishing, doesn’t it?”  Stiles remarked as Scott opened the door.

“Scott McCall?” A voice asked.

“Yep.  You must be Derek.  Come in.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”  Stiles cringed at the extremely polite tone of his friend’s voice.  His biggest pet peeve was phoniness, and it rankled him even when it was coming from Scott.  Maybe especially from Scott.

“Yeah, my uncle told me a little bit about the two of you as well.  I hear you’re part of his fan club,” Derek said in a smooth and radio announcer-y way.  Eww.

“Probably Stiles more than me.  This is him.”  Scott motioned Stiles to come over and shake Derek’s hand.  No way.  A wave was just fine.

“Hi,” Derek said as he walked in and began to look around the place.

“Well, that’s the tour,” Stiles said as Scott kicked him.  “What?!  The guy can obviously see we have crap-all stuff.”

“I see.  I admire men who put a priority on…art,” Derek said as he studied Carmen Miranda-Jackson.  Scott kicked Stiles again before he could even speak.  That fruit was so definitely not getting de-glued any time soon.

“That’s our old roommate…I mean a statue of him…obviously,” Scott said as he offered one of the beanbags to Derek.

“I see.  You…were close then?”  Derek asked diplomatically.  Stiles snorted.

“Trust me, this here is the superior version of Jackson,” Stiles said as he flopped gracelessly into his beanbag.  “You’ll get better conversation out of him too.”

Derek studied him closely for a second before turning back to Scott.  Stiles got the distinct impression he’d just been dismissed.

“So, are utilities part of the rent?”  Right to the boring stuff then.  Stiles sighed and picked a grape off of bust-Jackson’s head and popped it in his mouth.

“Yeah.  Rent’s due the fifteenth of each month and you’d have to pay a third of the original security deposit.”  Derek nodded his head at Scott’s words.

“Why do you have to move?”  Stiles interjected.

“Stiles!  Some stuff is private,” Scott said as he looked apologetically at Derek.

“You’re asking this _stranger_ to live with us, Scott.  He’d be here while we’re sleeping.  Excuse me if I’m worried if he killed his last roommates and the bloodstains were too hard to remove so he just moved out!”

“He passed the Sheriff’s check…”

Derek looked confused, “Sheriff?  Check?”

“If I’ve learned anything from Dexter, it’s that the police don’t know everything,” Stiles turned his attention to Derek.  “So, why are you moving?  Are you loud?  Do you not pay your rent on time?  Are your most precious possessions black garbage bags and a butcher’s knife?”

“Nothing like that.  Although I can see why _you’d_ be worried about somebody murdering you,” Scott chuckled at Derek’s words.  So much for bro-solidarity.  “I broke up with my girlfriend and it was her condo.  Sorry it’s not much more interesting than that.”

Stiles threw his head back and let out a loud laugh.  “Ha!  Relationship expert Derek Hale sucks at love.  I knew it!”

Derek glared angrily at the man in front of him.  “I’m sorry.  Do you have a problem with me?  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’ve never met you before.”

Scott put his head in his hands in a gesture of defeat.  There would be no new roommate today.

“Thankfully, no.  Unfortunately, I’ve had the displeasure of listening to your bullshit advice on a daily basis,” Stiles glared back.

“What exactly do you consider ‘bullshit’?  The helping people part or the caring about people’s problems part?”  Derek asked as he leaned slightly towards Stiles.

“Give me a break,” Stiles replied as he sat up straighter.  “You tell people to make life changing decisions with nothing but a five minute conversation as context.”

“I give people advice that might help in their making an important decision.  I always tell them to keep _all_ factors in mind when making it!”  Stiles picked another grape off of Jackson’s head as Derek ranted.  “I’m sorry if we can’t hide away from the problems around us by attempting to show the world we’re above it all because we’re _eccentric_ ,” Derek finished as he looked pointedly at the statue.

Scott held his breath as he watched Stiles and Derek glare at each other.  He’d been working out, but if the two of them decided to attack each other Scott didn’t think he could pull them apart.

“If Douchey Derek still wants the room it’s fine with me,” Stiles said to Scott while not taking his eyes of Derek.  Surprise was an extreme understatement.  “But you don’t need me for the boring details, so I’m going out for a burger.  Seeya, later.”

Stiles clumsily got up from the beanbag and walked out of the apartment.  Derek took a few calming breaths before he turned to Scott.

“Is he always like that?”

Scott still had absolutely no idea what just happened.  “Not usually that intense…but the…” Scott gestured to the Carmen Miranda-Jackson,”…that’s pretty normal.”

“Why don’t you show me the room?”

 

 

**Next time:**   Derek's moving in and he starts to get an idea of what exactly he's gotten himself into.


End file.
